Castlella
by skygirl55
Summary: Castle & Cinderella. Ridiculousness ensues. Crack!Fic. Inspired by a question on CastleFanFics blog.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Crack!fic for Richard Castle's birthday. Enjoy_

* * *

Sitting up in the barn's loft with his feet propped up on a bale of hay, Richard Castle stared out across the rolling, grassy landscape of the farm on which he resided. Though he'd lived there his entire life, the farm was beginning to feel less and less like home. He had no family remaining there—at least, no one he chose to consider family—but yet he was stuck. With no money and no title, he had very few choices other than to stay and work as a servant on the farm his family once owned while watching those who were unworthy squander away his father's hard-earned money.

With a sigh, Castle turned back to the weathered edge notebook cradled in his lap. The leather-bound book with soot-stained pages was his prized possession. It contained all of his notes, musings, and thoughts for the novel he would write one day. That was his ultimate dream—to be published—but with his life the way it was he was lucky just to be literate. Someday, though; someday his luck would change.

"Castle! Castle! Where the hell is that insufferable boy!"

The brown haired man cursed under his breath as he scrambled off the hay bale. He tucked his notebook between the bales at the top of the loft stairs and hurried down them as quickly as he could. If his step father caught him daydreaming _again_ …He shuddered. His back still hurt from the lashings he'd received. Twenty years old—the same age as his step-brother—but they still treated him like the eleven year old child he'd been when their families were joined by marriage.

After sprinting across the back garden up to the main house, Castle huffed out a breath when he stumbled into the kitchen coming face to face with the dark-skinned man. Though he had a good four inches of height on Mr. Esposito the man's dark eyes and heavy brow line made him quite intimidating. That and how accurate he was with a whip.

"I'm sorry, Sir; I got caught up in the barn. Was there something you needed?"

The elder man eyed him suspiciously before saying, "My boys need to get ready for the ball tonight, Castle. Do you expect them to do that for themselves?"

"No, Sir. Of course not, Sir. I'll go help them at once."

"Castle!" The man stopped him before he took two steps away. With a disapproving head shake he said, "Make sure you wash up first; I don't want you soiling my sons' good clothing."

"Yes sir." The writer responded, his tone clipped. Of course his hands weren't dirty; he would never write in his notebook with dirty hands. Nor were they stained with splotches of ink (this time). They were weathered and callused from hard labor on the farm, but that didn't make them dirty. Still, he did as he was asked so as not to upset his step-father; there would be enough tension in the house that night.

After washing up, he ascended the stairs to find his step-brothers, Kevin and Javier, both in Kevin's room staring contemplatively into the wardrobe. Castle fought to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Honestly, with the way those two cared about what they looked like, they may as well have been his step- _sisters_.

Castle had first been introduced to Kevin when he was eight and Kevin was seven. They met on the day their parents got married. Having lived alone with his mother since his father died while he was still in infancy, Castle was excited at the prospect of having a brother—especially one with a hearty Irish brogue. Unfortunately, Kevin, who sorely missed his homeland, had no interest in having a brother. And while Kevin's father, Mr. Ryan, was nice enough to Castle, their family didn't last long; Mr. Ryan died six months after the marriage began.

Two years later his mother brought home Mr. Esposito and his son Javier. Though Castle never understood why, the elder Esposito took an instant dislike to him and the younger soon followed suit. A mere week later his mother married again and their patchwork family was complete.

For two years Castle thought things would be fine from then on. His two step-brothers preferred to hang out with each other and not with him, but he was fine with that; he had his stories. He didn't even mind going to school, because it was a distraction from the disapproving eyes of his step-father. Just as he was beginning to plan his future, his mother was taken ill and died within a week. Then, things really changed.

Castle was forced out of his room and into the cellar where he was treated no differently than the kitchen maid and farmhands. As he grew older, he was not permitted to carry on his education, but instead took over the physical labor as the farmhands dwindled due to lack of funds to pay their meager wages. The Esposito's lived a life far too lavish for their means and soon both the farm and house fell into disrepair, but there was nothing Castle could do; he had no control over the situation. He only could sit back, watch and, as his step-father put it, be glad he was fed and clothed—like that was some sort of charitable gesture.

Entering Kevin's bedroom, Castle cleared his throat. "Your father said you might need some help?"

"Finally!" Javier proclaimed with a groan. "Where have you been?"

"Sorry I was…busy."

"Busy wasting time." Kevin snipped. Then he walked over to Castle with a white dress shirt draped over his arm. "This needs pressing. _Don't_ wrinkle the collar." Just before he passed it over he asked, "Are your hands clean?"

Fighting the urge to reply with sarcasm he instead grunted, "Just washed."

Kevin gave them a skeptical look before passing the shirt over.

"And my pants need the button sewed back on." Javier said before using his hand to beckon Castle to follow him across the hall to his bedroom. He did so and accepted the pair of black trousers.

"Do you have the button?"

"Why would I have the button? Find a new button!" Javier snapped.

Castle took a deep breath. "Anything else I can do for you gentlemen?"

He clicked his tongue with annoyance. "Nothing other than iron and sew—quickly. We have to leave for the ball by six!"

* * *

"There, I think that looks straight. What about you?" Castle stepped away from Kevin and allowed him to adjust his tie—emerald green to match the undertones in his vest—in the mirror that once belonged to his mother.

As Kevin made his own adjustments, Javier entered wearing his freshly mended pants and nodded. "Lookin' good bro."

"You think?" Kevin asked. When Javier confirmed, he turned so Castle could help him with his jacket. "It's a shame you're not coming, Castle. Might be your only chance to experience something nice."

Javier let out a bark of laughter. "You kidding me? He'd disgust Princess Kate with his straggly beard and filthy clothes."

"Don't forget the smell." Kevin laughed as he followed his elder step-brother out of the room.

Castle grumbled and shot a rude hand gesture in the direction they had gone. Once he heard them reach the echoing foyer, he walked over to the front-facing windows in Kevin's—his former—bedroom. Down below in the courtyard he could see the carriage waiting to take them to the ball. Watching them climb inside with their father made him sick. He balled his fists and turned away from the window, shaking his head.

When the invitation had been sent around three weeks earlier, it had been unprecedented. The King was inviting every man in the land—no matter his station—to a party celebrating their daughter's eighteenth birthday. Rumors in the marketplace said that the King was desperate to marry off his daughter now that she was of legal age. Evidently she had turned down many of the princes and lords that had already asked for her hand. Castle wasn't sure if that made her smart or stubborn, but he looked forward to his chance to find out.

The few days after the invitation arrived Castle worked diligently at his chores and was extra polite to his step-father and step-brothers in hopes they would agree to bring him along to the ball, but all his work was for naught. When he asked his step- father if he could attend, the elder man laughed. He _laughed_. He said the invitation was for the free men in the land, not the servants. Castle immediately wished to question when he had become a servant in his own home, but thought better of it, not wanting the lashings.

The next week he thought he would just go—screw their permission—but then he'd thought better of it, not wanting to lose his home on the off chance the Esposito's would find out. He was just…stuck.

Deciding to spend the evening throwing himself a pity party, Castle trudged down to the kitchen, grabbed a hunk of bread and some cheese and wandered out into the back garden. The sun was beginning to sink low on the horizon, painting the sky's canvass with deep hues of lavender. This wasn't so bad, he decided; at least he had the evening to himself.

After finishing his meal, Castle began to walk towards the barn to retrieve his notebook when he saw a man standing on the other side of the garden. He blinked thinking his eyes had tricked him but no, there was a man there—a tall man wearing a large black hat and brown overcoat. Why was there a man in his garden? That didn't make any sense.

"Excuse me, sir? What are you doing here? This is our garden."

"Don't you think I know that?" Came the man's gruff reply. "But I can be anywhere I damn well please."

Surprised by this aggressive response, Castle slowed his walk and came to a stop about a foot from the man. It was then he turned around to reveal a weathered face beneath a heavy red beard. "Wha—I don't understand. Who are you?"

"You mean, you don't recognize me?"

Perplexed, Castle's brow wrinkled. "No…?"

"What's the matter with you, boy? You should know your own Fairy God-Chuck Norris!"

Castle blinked. "My—what!?"

"Never mind that Richard. I made a very special trip here to see you tonight and we don't have time to waste, so are you ready?"

Castle had never been so confused in his life. The red-haired stranger seemed to know him though he had no idea who he was. And what was he getting ready for? "For…what…?"

The hat-wearing man shook his head disapprovingly. "I think your mother made you sound smarter than you actually are."

"M-my mother?" he stammered. "You know her?"

"'course I know her. Who do you think sent me?"

"So…you're an angel?" he guessed.

"NO! I'm your Fairy God-Chuck Norris! Now, what kind of suit are you thinking? Three piece? Tails? Fancy bow tie?"

Castle blinked at the man and then shook his head, taking a half step back and holding up his hands. "I'm sorry—what in the world are you talking about?"

"The ball!"

"The ball?"

"Yes the ball! You still want to go, don't you?"

"Um, yeah." Castle responded dumbly. "But how am I going to-"

"Don't ask questions while I work my magic. Now, let me see…" The red-haired man adjusted his hat on his head, straightened his coat and held out his hands in front of him, wiggling his fingers in random patterns.

Great, Castle thought. The man who had randomly shown up in his back yard had escaped form some sort of asylum for the insane. Now, he was stuck was stuck getting rid of him before the Esposito's returned or he would surely be blamed. "Um, listen sir I—whoa! What's happening!" He proclaimed when he felt a tingling sensation beginning at his feet and traveling all the way up his spine. Gazing down at himself he saw his worn, brown trousers begin to darken and fill in, his torn and rumpled shirt return to its original pure white, and, somewhat alarmingly, a noose begin to form around his neck.

Oh. It wasn't a noose; it was a tie.

"What's…what's happening?"

"Hold on, hold on." The finger waggling man said. "Just a few more touches…"

Castle yelped when he felt the skin on his face grow hot. Shooting his hands up, he felt smooth skin on the underside of his chin for the first time in half a decade. He'd never bothered to shave off what his step-father had called a pathetic excuse for a beard. Good lord—what was going on?

Scurrying towards the house, he found the basket with their gardening tools including a spade for digging holes for seeds; he picked it up. The spade was certainly not as good as the mirror inside the mansion, but it had enough of a reflective surface for him to see his face and confirm it was indeed beard-free. How was this possible?

Whipping around, he saw the hat wearing man approaching, skimming his index finger and thumb over his beard and observing Castle as though he was deciding If his work was complete or if it needed one or two more touches. "You're looking good, son."

"H-how…" was all Castle could stammer out.

"All part of a days' work. Now, if you'll follow me out front, I believe there's a carriage waiting for you."

"A carriage."

"Yes."

"To take me to the ball…"

"Yes."

"I….'ll be right back."

Castle took off running towards the barn which he found immediately difficult now that his work boots had morphed into fancy leather dress shoes. He soon found his stride and flung open the doors to the barn, leaving several startled chickens in his wake. Springing up the stairs, he plucked his notebook from its position before jumping down and sprinting out again into the night. By the time he reached the front of the house, he was breathless. Tucking the notebook into the jacket's inner-pocket he apologized to his Fairy God—whatever.

"Remember, Richard, you only have until midnight."

Stepping up into the carriage, Castle genuinely wasn't sure if he was dreaming or having some sort of mental breakdown, but he decided not to question it—especially if it meant a chance to go to the ball. He turned back to the red-haired man and questioned, "Midnight?"

"Yes. That's when the magic wears off and you will return to your regular clothes. More importantly, this carriage will disappear and you will be stranded. Remember: midnight."

"Midnight." He repeated. "Got it."

The man picked up his hat and tipped it towards Castle. With that, the carriage driver cracked his whip and the horses took off towards the palace on the hill.

* * *

 _TBC?_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you all so much for humoring my ridiculous little story_

* * *

"Katherine, darling, you look lovely this evening."

Kate turned from where she stood examining her reflection in her bedroom's full-length mirror to see her father entering through the doorway to her left. He wore his nicest tuxedo with his military commendations hanging prominent on the lapel. Across his body he wore a red sash, just like the one she would be putting on momentarily. Despite the fact that she wore one of the most beautiful gowns her designers had provided to date, Kate also wore a frown. This made her father chuckle.

"You would be even lovelier if you smiled."

"I have nothing to smile about." She sighed and wandered away from the mirror, wishing there were a way she could sit down. Unfortunately, due to the vast amount of fabric adorning her body—not to mention the corset and petticoat—sitting was nearly an impossible task.

"Of course you can smile—you're about to meet dozens and dozens of men seeking your hand in marriage!"

Kate shot her father a look indicating that was the very reason she could not smile. Her father sighed. "I know you're not thrilled about this Katherine, but-"

"Not thrilled!" She barked out. "I'm horrified. I don't understand why I can't meet a man on my own terms. Why can't I go out into the world—go to school, travel?"

"Because you're a princess and that's not what princesses do." Her father responded. Kate huffed and turned her back, obviously displeased with his reasoning. "Katherine, please. Just give this a chance. I'm not saying you _have_ to find the man you'll marry tonight, but you might. After all, your mother and I met at a ball just like this one."

"I know that." She mumbled, but that didn't mean _she_ would find the same thing. Besides, how was she to know that even a small percentage of the men at the ball would be genuine? The unofficial reasoning for the ball was to find her a suitable mate, so how was she to know they weren't just saying what she thought she wanted to hear? To her, nothing could have been more off-putting.

Kate's father walked up behind her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. "Just try and keep an open mind, okay? Maybe you'll even have a little fun."

* * *

Castle couldn't believe his luck as he strolled through the opulent ballroom at the palace. There was so much to see! So much to observe! He doubted the four hour long event would be sufficient time for him to take it all in. He wanted to memorize every moment—this was the absolute perfect setting to be involved in one of his stories; he just knew it!

After tasting some champagne and nibbling on some delightful treats, he retreated from the crowded party atmosphere to the less busy balcony to jot down some of his thoughts before he lost them. He needed five or six minutes to himself and then he would rejoin the event.

The night was cool, but not unpleasantly so. Actually, with the restricting fabric of the suit he was unused to, the night air was a welcome departure from the warmth of the ballroom. He hadn't realized just how warm it was until he stepped outside and felt the crisp air against the beads of sweat along his brow. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead before returning it. In doing so, he dropped the pen from his hand and it skittered across the marble balcony surface, where it came to rest teetering on the edge of a stairway. For a moment he thought the pen would stay, but before he could reach it, it tipped and clattered down the stairs.

Cursing to himself, Castle chased after the pen, not realizing he was traveling headlong into someone until he saw the cloud of ivory fabric descending onto the spot where the pen came to rest. "Oh-oh sorry. Excuse me I….oh…" His voice drifted off when his eyes caught sight of the stunning woman before him. He would have been rendered speechless from the beauty of her high cheekbones and her sparking brown eyes alone, but what really did him in was the red sash across her torso. He didn't know much about these events, but he knew what that meant: royalty. Shit.

"Are you all right?" she asked, her melodious voice indicating concern.

"I…um…dropped…there…" He stammered out, managing to point with his index finger to the area beneath her skirt.

Her brow wrinkled. "You…dropped something?" She backed down a step and her skirt revealed the pen, which he scooped up hastily with an apology. "A pen?" she asked, her voice indicating amusement. "You brought a pen to a ball?"

Her tone indicated a pen was a silly and useless as bringing a garden spade or rake; his cheeks flared with heat. "Um, yes. I…I like to write down inspiration." Sheepishly, he held up the worn notebook, which was clutched in his opposite hand.

She tilted her head, curious. "For what?"

His cheeks descending into a deeper blush he admitted. "I'm a writer."

The beautiful woman's face brightened immediately. "Oh! Anything I might have read?"

"I'm afraid not; I have yet to be published."

She hummed and walked up two steps so they were on the same level. She gazed down at the book in his hand and then back up at his face. "Looks like you have plenty of material there."

"I do. I just…I haven't much spare time."

"I see. Well, don't let me keep you from the party," she said, nodding back towards the house.

"Oh, you're not keeping me, your highness." He added a respectful head bow on to the end of his statement.

The woman hummed again. "In that case, would you care to walk with me for a little bit? I was finding it very…stifling in there."

He nodded, hardly believing his luck. "Of course—if that's what you want."

She smiled and led the way back down into the gardens. Once they'd reached the stone path she looked over at him and asked, "So, what do you like to write about?"

* * *

Kate hated to admit it, but her father had been right—she was having a good time at the ball all thanks to the mysterious writer man she had run into. He was interesting, funny, and surprisingly easy to talk to. Simply put: he fascinated her.

During their stroll around the gardens he told her all about his novel ideas. Some were fantasy, some were humorous and every single one was one she wanted to read. It was plain from the way he spoke; he had a way with words.

When the night grew too chilly for her, she suggested they return from the party. As she ascended the stairs, she nearly tripped on her oversized skirt, and he reached out his hand to assist her. She took it willingly and immediately took note of the roughness in his fingers and palms. This initially surprised her as she had not felt many hands like his, but when he smiled at her when they reached the top of the stairs she realized it didn't matter that he was probably not a nobleman. Plus, it explained why he did not have time to work on his writing.

Back inside the ball, Kate asked him to dance and though he hesitated and stammered out that he wasn't sure how, she insisted anyway and dragged him on to the dance floor with her. He stumbled and almost stepped on her dress a few times before they found their rhythm and began twirling around the floor with all the other guests. She didn't realize it at the time, but she must have been wearing an ear-to-ear grin, because when she caught her father's eye, he gave her a nod of approval.

Unfortunately, her fun was short lived. After their second dance, Kate was pulled away from her newfound friend to attend to her duties as party co-hostess. She promised she'd find him again, but nearly an hour passed before she did. That time, they snuck out on to the balcony and talked for almost forty minutes about the party and her favorite activities before they were discovered by one of her father's assistants.

After being forced to dance with almost a dozen men, she set off searching for the writer again, only to have great difficulty finding him. She enlisted the help of one of her assistants, but it still took nearly an hour. When she found him, he was seated in the corner of the room scribbling in his notebook; this made her smile.

"Would you like to dance again?" she asked, smiling even broader when he jumped; she had clearly startled him.

"Oh, um, to be honest, my feet may have had enough for the evening."

She laughed with relief. "Mine too!"

He scooted over a chair to leave one vacant for her. "Please sit."

"I wish I could, but I can't. The dress." She added when his brow crinkled.

He bobbed his head, tucked his notebook back into his jacket pocket, and stood. "Then we will dance and suffer foot pain together."

She laughed and took his hand before they began twirling across the floor. Despite her aching toes, she could have danced with him forever—felt the warmth of his hand on her lower back, his breath against her cheek, but she knew that could not be, for the strike of the midnight clock meant the party was nearly at a close.

"What time it is it?"

"Midnight, I believe." She responded without much thought. No sooner had the words left his lips that he gasped and broke their embrace.

"I'm sorry—I'm sorry. I have to go!"

Stunned, Kate watched him scurry through the crowd. She called out, "Wait!" but it was too late; he was too far from her. With a grunt, she picked up her skirt and hurried off towards him, clearing the crowd on the dance floor just in time to see him bump into a waiter, resulting in them both crashing to the ground. She gasped and rushed over, but when she reached them he was already back up, sprinting.

Kate made to go after him, but instead spotted the rectangular object on the floor next to the waiter. As the man climbed to his feet she asked, "Excuse me, could you hand that to me please?" she asked, pointing to the notebook. Unfortunately with her skirt there would have been no way for her to get it herself. The man in the white jacket handed it to her with a nod and Kate clutched the book tightly to her chest. She opened the front cover and then the back, but there were no markings of ownership.

She wanted to see that man again, talk to him, dance with him. More importantly, she needed to return the notebook, which she knew to be very important to him, even from their short time together. The problem was: she didn't even know his name.

* * *

 _There will be 1 more part after this._


	3. Chapter 3

"God, Castle, what's taking you so long?" Javier groaned when Castle appeared in the dining room carrying a tray of eggs and fresh bread.

"Yeah," his brother chimed in, "you're like the slowest person ever this morning."

Castle said nothing as he passed over their breakfast. Truth be told, he thought he was doing quite well—especially considering it took him nearly three hours to walk back to the farm from the palace the prior night. It had been worth it, though, to hold Princess Kate in his arms and hear her beautiful laugh. He would have wandered the earth for three days if it meant he could watch her smile at him just one more time.

"My apologies, gentlemen. Did you have fun at the ball last night? You must have arrived home rather late."

"Yeah, and you didn't come help us either." Ryan snipped.

"I must have been asleep." Asleep…or trudging through the woods freezing due to his lack of appropriate outerwear.

"The ball was amazing," Javier said. "I must have danced with Princess Kate a dozen times."

"No you di—ouch!" Kevin yelped when Javier elbowed him hard.

"Yes, I did." Javier corrected. "And you did too, didn't you?"

"Wha—oh yeah," Kevin said after Javier nudged him again. "Yeah we danced, but no more than five or six times. Mostly, we talked. She told me all about her favorite poems and was really impressed when I recited one for her."

"Is that so?" Castle responded, trying to keep his voice light. It was all he could do not to laugh. He knew for a fact that the princess preferred books to poetry; she had told him so during their stroll around the garden.

"Absolutely. I wouldn't be surprised if she came here and visited me—we really connected."

"She connected with me too!" Javier insisted, raising his voice. "Had she not been dancing with that other guy we definitely would have talked, too."

"Yeah, who was that?" Kevin asked, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms over his chest. "It was so annoying how they kept sneaking off to the balcony. Like, how rude—we all want to talk to her, dude."

"Anyway!" Javier scoffed.

Castle had to leave the room before the grin on his face betrayed him. He couldn't believe his ears. Him—they were speaking about him! He was the man who had danced too much with the princess and snuck out onto the balcony with her. He truly could not believe his luck. If only his step-brothers knew the truth. Then again, it was probably best they didn't; he feared the punishment would be far worse than twenty lashings.

After cleaning up breakfast, Castle slipped away to the barn loft to jot down some new ideas in his notebook. He dug into the pocket of the pants he'd been wearing the night before only to find the pocket empty. He checked his shirt, but it too was void of the notebook.

No, no, no! How could this be? His life's work! Where had it gone?

He could have lost it at any point between the palace and the farm. That was fifty miles! He would never, ever find it.

Crushed with disappointment, Castle flopped down onto a hay bale and buried his face in his hands. The memories of his night with the princess were wonderful, but seeing as that was all they would ever be—memories—he'd wished in that moment that he had stayed home.

* * *

"Boys! You're never going to believe the telegram we just received!"

When Mr. Esposito rushed into the dining area during dinnertime, Castle did not bother to look up from the wine he was pouring for his brothers. He knew "boys" would never refer to him.

"What's that Dad?"

"It's from Princess Kate's staff. It says the Princess will be traveling around the country to every single home in her kingdom in search of a suitor."

"That…seems like a waste of time." Kevin pointed out.

"No, no," Mr. Esposito continued, "apparently she's trying to find someone in particular. It says here that each eligible male will be asked to produce a writing sample in her highness's presence."

Javier laughed. "A writing sample? Why?"

"She's trying to find the owner of a notebook left at the palace on the night of last months' ball."

The wine bottle slipped out of Castle's hands and crashed loudly on the table. Fortunately, it did not break and he was able to mutter out an apology to his glaring brothers.

His notebook! So he hadn't lost it in the woods or on the side of a road somewhere—Kate had it! He'd lost it at the palace. Furthermore, Kate was so interested in finding the notebook's owner—so interested in finding him—HIM!—that she was visiting _every_ home in the land? That was…improbable. Had he not heard it from Mr. Esposito, he never would have believed it.

"The whole thing seems very strange to me," Mr. Esposito said as he set the telegram aside and sat down in front of his plate. "Who would have left a notebook at the ball?"

Immediately, Castle felt his face grow hot when both Javier and Kevin looked his way. Shit. Shit. This was not good. Knowing he had to get out of the room he asked, "Can I get anything else for you sir?" Fortunately, Mr. Esposito grunted and waved him away and Castle made his escape.

Oh no— _oh no!_ This was not good, not good at all!

Okay, okay—he wasn't going to panic. So he was often seen with a notebook around the farm—that wasn't a big deal. Having a notebook was hardly a quality unique to him. Besides, the telegram simply said 'a notebook' not 'a notebook full of stories' and thus it was even more likely to be explained away. He just had to keep his cool.

"Castle!"

 _Shit!_

Turning around, Castle saw both Javier and Kevin entering the kitchen. Swallowing hard he asked, "What can I get for you? Do you need more wine?"

"It was you, wasn't it?" Kevin asked, completely ignoring Castle's attempt at deflection. "You were at the ball."

"What?" Castle forced out a laugh. "That's ridiculous; no I wasn't."

"The princess found a notebook—a _notebook_ Castle. You're always carrying around that damn notebook!"

"I'm hardly the only person in the country who has a notebook, now am I?" he said, trying to use the logical approach. "Besides, think about it: how would I have gotten to the ball? You took the only carriage and its dozens of miles away."

Kevin gazed over at his brother. "He does make a valid point."

"Yeah but look at him—his beard is gone and he smells better!" Javier challenged.

Castle shrugged. "So I shaved and took a bath—neither of which indicate I was at the ball last month."

Javier grunted. "Fine. But we've got our eye on you Castle!"

* * *

For the next several weeks the country was abuzz with news of the princess's impending visit. Whenever Castle went to the market to pick up supplies or to sell what was left over from their meager crop he heard nothing but talk of Princess Kate. Apparently, her arrival in their province was imminent and every family was trying to prepare—including the Esposito's.

Castle had scrubbed every surface of their home until his hands were nearly raw. The floors, the windows—even some of the walls! The date of the princess's visit had not yet been finalized, but Mr. Esposito wanted everything ready, knowing they would not get more than a day or two notice.

When finally the telegram from the palace arrived, it included instructions that every eligible male in the household would be presented to the princess. They would need to write several lines on a piece of parchment she provided. She would then examine their writing, and if it matched the notebook she possessed the man and his entire family would be invited to the palace to celebrate.

By the morning she was to arrive, Castle had worked himself to near exhaustion. In addition to re-scrubbing all the floors, he had been required to aid in making a feast to serve the princess and her entire army, though he had no idea why. He hardly believed the princess would want to hang out once she'd collected her writing samples, but Mr. Esposito believed that and he didn't want to argue. His hands were already sore enough.

With the food displayed in the dining room, Castle returned to the kitchen to clean himself up. If every male was to be presented by order of the princess, Mr. Esposito had to let him meet the princess. He doubted very much that the princess would invite him to the palace once she realized who he really was, but the look on his step-brother's faces would be more than enough satisfaction for him.

He'd only been standing at the kitchen sink for a moment when he heard footsteps behind him. He'd barely turned around when he was grabbed under each armpit and dragged towards the back of the house. "Wha—what the—what's going on?!"

"Just a little insurance policy," Kevin said.

"Yeah, in case it really was your notebook the princess found." Javier added. Then, when they reached the door to the cellar, they unceremoniously chucked Castle inside, bolting the door behind him. Castle rushed back up the stairs, ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder and leg, and tried the door, but it was no use; he was trapped.

* * *

"Welcome, Your Highness, to my humble home."

Kate nodded politely to the man as he bowed at her and swept his hand out to the side. "Thank you, sir. May I ask your name?"

"Esposito. And these are my sons Javier and Kevin."

Kate observed each of their bows. "And these are the men of your household?"

"Indeed, madam. With the passing of my wife we are but a home of three bachelors. Please, come inside."

Kate nodded, walked inside, and waited in the foyer for her two attendants and the men of the household. They ushered her into an adjoining sitting room where she sat on a yellow sofa and crossed her legs at the ankles. She could not say she recognized any of these men from the ball, which disappointed her greatly. Once again, her journey would be for naught. Still, she would accept their writing samples as promised in the telegram.

"I assume you are aware of why I am here today."

"Yes of course, Your Highness and we are delighted you are visiting. Boys?"

The shorter, lighter skinned man knelt down before her. "Please, Your Highness, may I recite you a poem?"

"Or I," the darker skinned man said as he mirrored his brother's actions, "may sing you a song."

Kate cleared her throat. "That's very kind, gentleman, but I'm afraid I don't have time. Montgomery?" she said to her manservant. He stepped forward with two pieces of parchment and two pens, handing one to each of the men. "Please write for me the sentence, 'Hello, my name is,' and then write your full name.

"Is that all?" the blonde man asked. This earned him a smack from his father who hissed, "Do as the princes says!" Kate fought a smirk.

A minute later she was presented with two pieces of parchment. From Montgomery she received the leather bound notebook. With one quick glance, it was clear the writing did not match. She gazed up at the trio of men. "I'm sorry to have wasted your time."

"No waste at all, Your Highness," the father said. "May we offer you some food? Perhaps something to drink?"

"No thank you." Kate stood from the couch and walked back into the foyer. "We must be on our way; we have many other homes to visit."

"I understand, but if you need anything else…."

Kate nodded politely and waited for them to open the front door before stepping out into the warm sunlight. She approached her carriage, but her walk slowed when she spotted a piece of parchment jammed into the door frame. Curious, she plucked it free, unfolded it and gasped.

 _I'll never forget our night together. It will be with me always. I hope you find what you're looking for._

Kate skimmed her finger over the loop in the y; her heart skipped a beat. "Montgomery—the notebook."

Stepping further into the courtyard so her view was not shadowed by the house, Kate held open the notebook with her left hand while holding the letter with her trembling right hand. The y's—they matched! "Montgomery look at this!"

The elder man stepped up and looked over her shoulder, gazing at both documents before confirming with a nod. "It seems we have found him."

Grin on her face, Kate whipped around to the perplexed trio of men. "This note was on my carriage. Who could have written it?"

"Note, Your Highness?" the father asked, his tone ringing with innocence.

Kate approached him. "Yes, this note. It appeared while we were inside. Do you have any other men on this property? A servant perhaps?" Yes, that made sense; the writer's hands had felt so rough against hers.

"S-servant?" the darker-skinned man stammered.

Kate needed no other confirmation. "Where is he?"

"He…uh…he…"

"You will answer the princess." Montgomery informed him in a deep, commanding baritone.

The stammering man's chin dropped and he confessed, "We put him in the cellar."

"Show me."

Kate followed the two younger men back through the house, through their kitchen, and to a locked wooden door. When they opened it, she charged down the stairs despite their protest only to find the cellar vacant. In a far corner, just above a wooden piece of furniture covered in cobwebs, a small window was open. She could hardly believe it was large enough for a man to escape, yet clearly he had.

Stalking back up to the kitchen she said, "Looks like he climbed out a window; he can't have gone far. We'll need to search the grounds."

* * *

Knapsack slung over his shoulder with a spare set of clothing, a pen, and his new notebook, Castle made his way along the road leading towards the closest town. Sitting on a step in the cellar he'd had an epiphany. If he didn't change his life then, he probably never would. His conversation with the princess had given him hope that maybe he could become a published writer someday. It would be hard and it would take work, but he was willing to do it.

Shimmying out the window had not been easy, but he'd managed it, packed up his things and slipped away, hoping to find work in the nearest town. He could be a bartender, a waiter, or even a farm hand. If that town had no work, he'd move on to the next. No matter what, he wouldn't stop writing.

Hearing a horse and carriage coming from behind him, Castle stepped off the road and trudged several feet into the grass to give the carriage clearance. Much to his surprise, it didn't pass, but instead came to a halt. When he heard a female's voice shout, "Wait!" he stopped walking and turned around. Her face lit up when their eyes met, and his heart immediately stuttered; she was even more beautiful than she had been at the ball.

After clambering out of the carriage, she approached him, folded sheet of paper in her hands. "Where do you think you're going?"

He liked the way she spoke to him as though they were already in the middle of a conversation, like they were already friends. With a slow smile, he shrugged. "To find a better life."

She stopped about a foot from him and nodded. "I might have an idea about that. What's your name?"

"Richard."

She took a small step closer. "I'm Kate."

He took a step back from her and shook his head, dropping his chin low. "You're a princess and I am but a servant."

"No," she corrected. He looked up, tentative, and she smiled even broader. "You're a writer." With that, she stepped in close, rose up on her toes and pressed her lips very softly against his.

"I…" Castle began to speak, but no words came out; he was stunned. A princess had kissed him. Hell—forget the princess part! A beautiful woman had kissed him! That alone was a reason to celebrate. He didn't yet know how to process the fact that she was royalty.

A chortle escaped her lips and she reached down to take his knapsack. "Come. I think I have something that belongs to you." She'd made it to the carriage before she looked back to find him still statuesque. Again, she laughed. "Aren't you coming?"

Castle took one more moment to soak in the amazing transformation about to happen in his life and then, smile on his face, he joined her in the carriage.

* * *

Richard Castle awoke with a start. Where was he? What was going on?

He sat up, blinked, and took in his surroundings. The room was dark, the sheets and mattress soft, and the other side of the bed occupied by a sleeping figure.

His wife! Princess Kate!

Er, Kate. Just Kate.

Rubbing his eyes, Castle looked to his left to see the clock on the nightstand. 3:42 in the morning. He had been dreaming, but what an odd and incredible dream. Not to mention amusing.

Chuckling, he scooted over to spoon himself against his wife's back, draping his arm over her rounded stomach. During dinner she'd been teasing him about writing new version of fairytales for their son. At the time, he thought the idea crazy. He wrote mysteries not fantasies, but in light of his dream he decided maybe that wasn't such a bad idea after all.

Princess Kate.

She was no Nikki Heat, but she might be a pretty interesting character to explore.

* * *

 _A/N: Thanks for reading and thanks for the reviews! I hope you enjoyed this little crack!fic detour. Honestly this just took on a life of its own. I was outlining a legitimate story that would be Cinderella-inspired but then i thought...what would happen if i just went full scale crack!fic with it...and this was the result :)_

 _Thanks for humoring me!_


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